Letting Go
by purple pear 87
Summary: Being James Potter's girlfriend wasn't so bad. Except for one small detail- he was in love with someone else. And sometimes, you just had to let go. Rated T for language. JP/LE/OC


Rated T for language.

**Author's Note: this isn't going to make sense to anybody who hasn't read Stay With Me, so if you stumble across this, I'd suggest you read that first. For those of you that have read it, it's the scene where Emily and James split up.  
**

Letting Go

It was evening, when it came to her, that sudden little flash of inspiration. She got to her feet slowly, and looked around for James. She didn't see him anywhere, and sighed, excusing herself from her chattering friends and making her way up the stairs to the boy's dormitories, stopping at the one she knew was her boyfriend's, and knocking the wood sharply with her knuckles. She only had to wait a couple minutes before the door was flung open, and there stood Peter Pettigrew, clad only in a pair of mouse-patterned boxers. She wrinkled her nose. "Can I talk with James?"

He turned and called over his shoulder. "Oi! James! Your girlfriend's here!" He gave her an apologetic glance and returned to one of the four-poster beds, where it seemed that James and his friends were playing a strip poker- or at least, that was the easiest explanation for the seeming lack of clothing. The room was a mess- clothes and Quidditch gear strewn over every available surface- and smelled like dirty socks, pizza and the hint of James' cologne. She sneezed, and resisted the urge to run away.

James turned, and smiled, the low glow from the lamp lighting up his face and making him more handsome than ever. He muttered something to Sirius, and got to his feet, making his way over to her. He seemed to be faring the best of the four of them- his shirt gone, but otherwise still wearing his low-slung jeans. Actually, she rather liked the look. He had a nice chest, she decided. Tanned, lean and toned. She tore her eyes away from him to look up into his eyes- or the little squares of light reflected on his spectacles. He must have seen her watching him, but seemed to sense the seriousness of her expression and didn't say anything about it. "Hey, Em." He leaned down to kiss her. She turned her face away.

"James, I need to talk with you."

"What's up?" He shoved his hands into his pocket, looking oddly vulnerable. "Could it wait until tomorrow?"

"Actually. . . no. It can't." She crossed her arms across her chest and stared up at him, forcing herself not to memorize the carefree expression. He looked quizzical, and she sighed. "Look. . .this isn't working."

His forehead seemed to crumple in on itself. She had never been this serious with him before, she knew. Their relationship was primarily about fun, and not loving each other. And that was where they went wrong. "I feel like you don't want to be with me anymore." she tilted her head to the side, studying his reaction. He winced, but otherwise didn't say anything. his back was hunched like a question mark.

He reached out and took her cold hand, his own rough and warm around hers. She winced, and gently tugged it away, and instead clasped her fingers together. Her warning to him. He sighed and leaned back, running a hand through his wild hair. "I don't know what you mean."

"James." The name seemed formal and unnatural on her lips like that. She never called him by his name. "Do you love me?"

He stared, as though she had just told him that Quidditch had been banned from Hogwarts, then looked behind him, toward his mates, watching them with interest, and shut the door to block them out. "Of course I do. You should know that." It sounded like a line learned by heart, even to her. And she knew that he could tell that she could see right through it. She took a breath, and exhaled shakily. "But are you in love with me, or do you love me like a sister?"

He was silent, and she nodded. She had expected this. It was something, to be lumped into the same category as her boyfriend's best mates. She briefly let the hurt and disappointment flash across her face. He winced, and looked immeasurably guilty. "I'm sorry, Emily," he told her, looking away from her to stare at a light fixture and clenching his jaw "I just don't love. . . you."

She nodded, and as he looked up, she hid her emotions under a blank mask so that he couldn't use them to hurt her. She'd been hurt too many times before. "It's her, isn't it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." The response seemed automatic, and was entirely unconvincing.

She laughed. "I've seen the way you look at her, James. You follow her around like a puppy begging for a treat from an owner that's kicked it too many times. She's hurt you. I know that. But you keep going back for more. I know that you'd dump me in a second if she showed any interest in you."

He grimaced, but didn't deny it. It was the truth, after all. "Do you hate me?"

"Honestly? No." She rested her chin on her hand and considered him. "Isn't that pathetic? No matter how long you led me on, I can't seem to hate you for it." She was silent for a moment, then said, "I just wish you felt that way about me. I could actually reciprocate it." She sighed, feeling immensely tired.

"I know you could." He looked at her with affection, and she couldn't stand it. Too many memories. She looked away again. "And I wish that I could, too. I'm so sorry, Em."

"It's all right." she gave a sigh and played with her fingers. "But you know I can't be with you anymore, if all you're going to do is pine over her."

"I wouldn't expect you to," he said in a low voice. "You should be happy."

She didn't say anything, but her expression spoke it all- her mouth tugging down at the corners, her eyes soft and wet. "You should be happy, too," she told him softly. "But she loves her boyfriend, James. And he loves her. You don't have a chance." And she watched how he recoiled at the news that he already knew. It was true. He deserved so much more than to be continually pushed and pulled aside at her bidding. He should have been treated like somebody to love.

He winced. "You don't have to tell me that."

"Sorry." She sighed. "Actually, no, I'm not." she tipped her head to the side and considered it. Her friends had told her she was painfully honest too many times, and this would probably have been one of them. "I guess I'll see you around, then."

"I'm sorry," he repeated for the third time. "I really am . . . We can still be friends, though, right?"

She turned to stare at him, memorizing the hurt expression in his deep hazel eyes. "James. . . I don't think so. It hurts too much." she tried to smile, but it was probably more of a grimace at this point. She didn't really care. Let him see how she felt. Instead, she stood up on her tiptoes and gave him a brief kiss on the cheek before turning to go down the hall and stairs toward the girls' dormitories.

He watched her leave, and leaned back against the shut door and closed his eyes, imprinting the image of Emily, her pretty, earnest, hurt face in his eyelids. _This is what happens when you fuck up, _he told himself. _You hurt people when you don't let them get close_. He groaned, pressing his palms deep into his eyes, letting color erupt and swirl through the blackness. But, at the same time, he thought of Lily, her dark red hair like fire, her pale, heart-shaped face, and her beautiful, expressive eyes, and resisted the urge to smash his fist into the wall. Emily was right. he deserved better. But he was in too deep.

His life was utter shit.


End file.
